Comfort
by DemonicK
Summary: SGAHC 'After Sunday' Challenge: One of the pallbearers connects with a member of the SGC. Oneshot.


**Comfort  
Stargate Atlantis / SG-1  
Oneshot  
Tuesday, 19 June 2006**

A/N: My response to LilRicki's 'After Sunday' Challenge on SGAHC— one of the pallbearers connects with someone at the SGC. Probably the single piece of fanfiction I am most proud of, to date. Er, sorry about the lack of italics— me and html on the SGAHC boards were disagreeing, so I just wrote it without. I think that the characters themselves are pretty definitive in the ways they talk and act, though, so I think my lack of italics (ergo, emphasis) while writing them shouldn't hurt anyone's interpretation of the story. (Probably a good thing, actually, since I have this tendency to over use italics...)

Drama mostly, some humorous moments (wouldn't be Stargate without them), no slash.

Spoilers for SG-1: Broca Divide, Forever in a Day, Heroes II; SGA: Rising I, Irresistable, Return I, Irresponsible, Sunday (with the big ones being Sunday and Heroes, and possibly Irresistable— the others you could probably get away with).

* * *

"...And that give me great comfort." Elizabeth Weir, head of the Atlantis expedition concluded her speech, making way for the six pall bearers.

Great comfort...

Right, he thought, as he moved forward to take his place on one of the front positions next to the coffin. Comfort. Well, sure, it was comforting to know that Carson had made a difference... going out doing what he loved, as it was... 'with his boots on', so to speak. Actually, he had been wearing boots, hadn't he? Hah. Funny. Probably water-proof, something to go wading in... He knew some people did that. When they were fishing, that was. Or, then again, they may have just been his regular work-boots, after all, people had to go out into the field all the time. Had to be ready, had to be well equipped, it was dangerous and unpredictable out there, you never knew when... Never knew when something bad would happen, did you?

Rodney's mouth became a little pinched around the edges. As a person who generally spoke, literally, everything on their mind, the silence was killing him. But then, McKay couldn't recall any instance where ever felt something like this, something this... this... what?

Hah. There, see? Brilliant, garrulous Rodney, the man who always knew what he was talking about and usually had at least four different ways to explain it was at a loss for words. No, that wasn't entirely true, was it? He just couldn't express what he was feeling. Hell, he had no idea what he was feeling, much less how to talk about it. And in the absence of that, his mind was filling in with this blathering, rambling on without end.

He pressed his lips into an even thinner line. The only comfort he could think of right now was that he had managed to keep his mouth clamped shut, or else risk every chaotic thought in his head spilling out through his oversized mouth.

* * *

John Sheppard glanced across the... the coffin... to see the pallbearer opposite him. McKay was staring off into space. Trying to distract himself, maybe, or already distracted by everything going through that big brain of his... Sheppard knew what death could do, especially to the survivors.

Which was why, in a way, he felt guilty— and not the kind of, if-I-had-done-something-differently,-he-would-still-be-alive kind, either. Not that he wasn't feeling that too, but...

Looking at Rodney, Sheppard wondered, for a second, what it was that was going through the other man's mind.

So many people had told him, confided in him— their minds were racing, they felt overwhelmed, could barely function—

And then there was him. Whatever the reason, Lt. Col. John Sheppard felt none of it. Not yet. Oh sure, he felt bad— who was he kidding, he felt like shit— but the soul-scarring, earth-shattering kind of hurt just hadn't hit him yet. That was what he kept telling himself, anyways, ever since they had run all the way to the scene of the explosion and he hadn't been rooted to the floor in shock. Since he had helped carry Carson's body back into the infirmary, and zipped the body bag when the nurse had broken down, unable to do it herself. It just hadn't hit him yet.

Or maybe it was this whole leader thing. After all, wasn't it his duty to keep things going? Take care of the people under him when they couldn't take care of themselves? Well, sure, that honor actually belonged to Elizabeth, but as head of the military side of Atlantis, head of a team... Surely part of that fell on him too?

The pallbearers had hesitated a long moment. He glanced over at McKay, who was still lost, who knew where. Then Lt. Col. John Sheppard, like the leader he was, leaned his weight ever so slightly into the pall, just enough to shift it in the hands of the others. After all, they were overwhelmed, couldn't function— they needed someone to get this going. Sheppard could see out of the corner of his eye for a moment, Rodney seemed surprised, snapped back to reality. Sheppard shifted his gaze to focus on the event horizon of the Stargate.

It struck him, after this, there was no going back. Sure, he'd come back to Atlantis, but cliché as it sounded, it wasn't going to be the same Atlantis. As the group of six stepped forward together, Sheppard was keenly aware that this was a devastating blow to the entire expedition. Maybe it was a comfort, then, that he couldn't feel the pain.

* * *

"So that's it then?"

Sheppard hesitated, before turning back towards Ronon. After a moment, he nodded to the Satedan. "Yeah," he said. "That's it."

"Oh, sure, for you guys," Rodney broke in, his voice fast and low and distracted, Sheppard noticed. "You're off the hook now, while I'm going with the— ...with Carson," he finally managed to get out. For a moment longer, his mouth worked, before he snapped it shut, realizing what he just said. "I'll just be... y'know, going," he finished lamely, jerking his thumb towards where several airmen were preparing the coffin to make the journey up through the SGC, where a transport vehicle was waiting at the top.

"Yeah, me too," Ronon added gruffly, heading back for the Gateroom. McKay and Sheppard watched him go, before McKay drifted off. Sheppard wanted to stop him, just for a second, and ask how he was holding up. But then it occurred to him that he already knew the answer, and there was nothing he could do to help Rodney anyhow.

"So," he breathed, waiting for something to come to him. It didn't work.

He exhaled loudly, before deciding he didn't want to head back just yet. At the least, he still knew this place well enough to find the mess. Unable to think of anywhere else to go, he started for an elevator.

* * *

Dr. Daniel Jackson had heard that there was a funeral procession coming through from Atlantis— not that this was the first time, not since they could establish wormholes directly between the Ancient city and the SGC, but this, apparently, was a big one. It made him feel a stab of guilt for not attending, but only for a short while. After all, he hadn't known the man, and there were other important things that needed to be done. Time was short; he was sure, wherever this man was, he would understand and not... come back to haunt Jackson, or something. And with that, he put it out of his mind, setting himself to other tasks.

Which was why, maybe an hour later, he was surprised to see a handful of Atlantis personnel, wearing dress blues or formal suits, milling around as he headed towards the commissary for dinner. There was only one actually inside, though.

Jackson quickly grabbed a tray, searching for a place to sit; his eyes kept straying back towards the one military officer... "What was his name," he muttered under his breath. The rank on his shoulder was Lieutenant Colonel... He snapped his fingers once as it came to him. "Sheppard."

"Mm?" The man straightened up, turning as someone called his name.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Jackson said, looking at least a little shamefaced. "I didn't mean to—"

Sheppard waved it off. "Nah, don't worry about it." He glanced up at the archaeologist, standing there with his tray. "You can... have a seat, if you like."

"Uh, sure, thanks," Jackson said, mentally shrugging before doing so. He noticed Sheppard staring at him expectantly. "Oh! Uh... Daniel Jackson," he said, offering his hand. The other man's head went back a little and his eyes widened in recognition, before he shook the proffered hand. There was a heavy silence for a moment after the civilian seated himself. "So," Jackson started, "You're here for..." he trailed off, not quite remembering why there would be anyone from the Atlantis expedition in the SGC.

"Carson Beckett," Sheppard supplied. It took several seconds for the name to click with Jackson, but by then, the colonel was already continuing. "He was our chief of medical staff." The man said it without much weight, but Jackson picked up easily enough on the 'was'.

"...I'm so sorry," he said at length.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, a humorless smile coming to his lips. "Me too."

Silence fell back over the table. Jackson picked up his fork, still determined to eat quickly and get back to work. After a few bites, he noticed Sheppard's fork dip back down to the plate with food still on it... for about the third time. He wondered for a second if the other man was even consciously doing it. Maybe he just wasn't hungry. Eventually, he just put his own fork down, searching Sheppard's expression for some clue. The colonel's expression was all but blank though; if Jackson hadn't known the man was here for a funeral, he might have thought he was just bored.

After a moment of indecision, he finally asked, "Are you doing all right?"

"What?" Sheppard said in true military fashion. "Oh, yeah. I guess." Another short smile that didn't reach the rest of his face. "It's just..."

"Hard?"

"...Ye-eah..."

Jackson paused, slightly taken aback by Sheppard's indecisive reply. "It's not?"

Sheppard's brow furrowed. "No. I mean, yes! I mean—" He sighed explosively, completely abandoning the fork and leaning back in his chair. "I don't know." Roughly, he rubbed one hand over his face.

Jackson tilted his head to one side. "There's nothing wrong with that, you know?"

"I guess," Sheppard said quietly, his eyes not quite meeting Jackson's. He knew the archaeologist thought he was probably 'awash with tumultuous feelings', or some other crap like that. And maybe he should have been. He chanced a look up at the other man, who was scrutinizing him carefully. Great, he thought, of all the people in the SGC to invite to eat with me, I get the one who makes a living of digging up details.

"You... want to talk?" Jackson chanced.

Sheppard just shrugged. "That's the thing." To his chagrin, Jackson's scrutiny had not lessened, and he decided to give talking a shot— maybe it would help him make sense of what he was feeling... and what he wasn't. "I don't really feel like I need to. I don't feel much of anything.

"Hell, I think back to some of the people I've lost over the years in the military... Good men and women, people who signed on to do the dangerous stuff. They knew that one day it might cost them," he said, hesitating. "And we all knew that sometimes, we would survive... but our buddies wouldn't be so lucky. Still hurt like hell." The only word Jackson could think of to describe the emotion he had just heard in the other man's voice was aggrieved.

Thus, Jackson's reply was oddly muted, even as he found himself repeating his question. "Hard?"

Sheppard gave him a rueful nod. "Harder than anything. And it's the same every time."

"But..." Jackson filled in, as Sheppard stopped again, gently prodding the other man to continue. "Not this time?"

For a second, Sheppard couldn't help but glare at Jackson. Why had he let this guy sit and eat dinner with him? But even he realized that there was no reason to blame the civilian, and let his eyes fall. After all, he was the one who decided talking would be a good idea. Hah. Right. Good idea... Letting it go, Sheppard allowed himself to be prodded. If he didn't, there was no telling if he'd ever be able talk about it. "No." He shook his head. "I mean, Carson wasn't military, he never signed on to do stuff like this. He was a doctor— he was all about fixing people like me up after we did the dangerous shit. Him dying was... so, completely unfair." Sheppard glanced up again. "If anything, he's the one I should be getting upset over. Breaking down, losing touch with reality, all that." The next part, Jackson almost missed as Sheppard whispered it to himself. "What's wrong with me?"

For a second, Jackson's mouth worked, as he tried yet again to figure out what to say. But, it occurred to him, Sheppard's last sentiment had been personal, private. Dr. Jackson, instead, coughed self-consciously, breaking yet another awkward silence.

Sheppard looked away, before seeming to notice his untouched tray. "Y'know what, I don't think I'm going to finish this." He rose from his chair, feeling slightly exposed, as if he had shown Jackson too much of himself. "I'll, uh, see you around, I guess."

Jackson, on the other hand, found himself regretting that Sheppard was leaving. "Going back to Atlantis, then?"

"Nope," Sheppard replied, his tone revealing that there was no indecision about this. "I'm not required to go back for another—" he checked his watch— "three or so hours."

Jackson couldn't help but wonder why Sheppard was so adamantly against returning to Atlantis, if he honestly wasn't feeling anything. However, he had a feeling of his own, that any further questioning wasn't going to do any good— perhaps because the colonel actually didn't know. As soon as he thought it, another idea crossed his mind. "Hey, uh..." Crap, what was his name again... "Sheppard!" As with before, the man paused before turning to face him.

"Yes?" he said in a manner that suggested this was wearing thin.

Jackson just gave him that annoyingly cheery smile he was famous for on this side of the Milky Way. "Come with me." He held up a hand to forestall the question that was forming on Sheppard's lips. "Unless you really want to hang around the SGC for three hours."

The colonel seemed to waver for a second, caught between wanting something to do and wanting to spend some time alone. Eventually, he gave in, and just shrugged. "Sure." Then he gestured at his dress blues. "Don't suppose you've got something I could change into?"

Jackson suppressed a small grin. "I think I know someone your size."

* * *

One thing John Sheppard could not deny— Colorado Springs was a beautiful place. He kind've missed driving around town now and then; however, he was enjoying being in the passenger's seat this time, and just taking the scenery in. He noticed Jackson glancing at him from the driver's seat, the smallest of smiles tugging at one side of his mouth. Sheppard gave him one of his own. "I'm a sucker for this kind of thing. Y'know, sunsets in the mountains—"

"Or over oceans in other galaxies..."

"Exactly!"

"Mm..." Jackson acknowledged, before letting out a short laugh.

Sheppard leaned forward in his seat, looking a little incensed. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Sheppard obviously wasn't falling for it. "You just remind me of someone," he added, thinking.

Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, before pausing to reconsider. "Is that a good thing?"

"Sure, I mean— well, she was a woman, but," he seemed to splutter for a moment before refocusing on what he intended to say; "That's not what I was talking about."

For a moment, neither of them said anything, before Sheppard gratefully admitted, "Okay, that's a relief."

Snorting once, Jackson shook his head. "I was just gonna say..." He looked over at Sheppard, who gestured for him to continue. "You know! The whole, not-fazed-by-anything... thing..." he added, a bit lamely.

"Oh?"

"Yeah... Uh, she was actually... our chief medical officer." Once again he allowed himself to sneak a glance at the military man, wondering if this was going to work or not.

"Oh." Sheppard seemed to grow a little introspective, but he wasn't getting annoyed, so that was progress. Instead, he started wracking his brain, trying to dredge up memories of his brief stint at the SGC a few months ago. "Uh... what's her name... Lam?"

"What? Oh no. No... Uh..." Jackson hesitated for a moment. He realized after a moment that it was still hard for him. "Actually, I'm talking about Dr. Janet Frasier."

Sheppard shook his head. "Never heard of her." He looked over at Jackson. "Sorry," he added. "Must have been before I joined all of this."

The archaeologist nodded, soberly. "Actually... yeah." He paused until they came to a red light, and after they had stopped, he turned to face Sheppard full on. "She died about half a year before the Atlantis expedition." He forced himself to move on from the memory of her death, and a small, sad smile came to his face. "She was... irrepressible, though," he continued, trying to cut off Sheppard, who looked like he was struggling to come up with some condolences.

"Yeah?" the colonel said, distracted momentarily.

Jackson nodded, now grinning, as he let off the brake and started forward. "Yeah. More like Napoleon, though, when she wanted to be."

Sheppard couldn't help but let out a snort of his own. "I heard that. Carson was the same way. I mean," he started, getting into the swing of story telling, "The man was practically the Cowardly Lion, until you put him in scrubs. Suddenly he's Mussolini. Scottish… Mussolini…" he added, frowning at the incongruity of it, before shrugging it away. "Never let us get away with the fun stuff," he added, good naturedly.

"Yeah, but always fixing the mistakes we make, no doubt." An affirmative nod from Sheppard didn't surprise him. He chuckled again as another memory resurfaced. "I remember one time, the entire SGC was reduced to the level of Neanderthals. Bushy eyebrows and everything," he added.

Sheppard's eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. "Neanderthals? Literally?"

"Oh yes, it was great fun. Passion, violence... a proclivity for breaking things."

The other man gave a passive smile. "My favorite kind've party."

"Yep. And it was actually Janet who figured out how to stop it— antihistamines," he supplied, as the other man looked to him. "Lucky for us, she had the most horrible allergies, and was always dosed up on them, so the virus didn't affect her."

"Would have been interesting otherwise." Jackson didn't miss Sheppard slip him a sidelong glance, and what looked like a smirk. "So, aggression, huh? Bet you were the worst of the bunch." The civilian felt color flush into his cheeks.

"I, uh, wasn't actually in the SGC at that time, I was stuck back on the world," he said; "Which is why my allergy meds ran out... and why... I also succumbed," he admitted.

"Aww," Sheppard said, seeming to grow a bit disappointed. "Missed all the fun, huh?"

Jackson's mouth drew to one side and he angled his head a bit. "No, not quite." His eyes darted over to Sheppard, who was waiting expectantly. "Jack beat the crap out of me somewhere in there," he muttered under his breath.

At least the colonel was kind enough to try to stifle his laughter. Try, anyhow. "General O'Neill?"

Jackson cleared his throat. "Yeah. Anyways," he said quickly, "The point is, it was a good thing Dr. Frasier didn't end up like us or who knows what would have happened." For a moment, he wondered how he had ended up embarrassing himself, when the point of the story was to try and remember the good things about someone he'd lost.

However, Sheppard was nodding sagely, instead of continuing to poke fun at his, now, somewhat less than gracious host. "Actually, that reminds me of something similar— this guy named Lucius—"

"Sounds pleasant," Jackson murmured.

Sheppard bounced his eyebrows once. "He had this chemical that pretty much got people addicted to him. Oh, it was sickening. People just fawning over him, left and right," he said, and though there was amusement in his voice, there was also a note of resentment, Dr. Jackson noticed. Tempting though it was, he didn't push that particular point.

"So, what, uh...Carson? managed to resist and then stop this... Lucius?"

Sheppard gave pause to that thought for a moment, before he gave Jackson a slightly unsettled look. "No. Actually. He was one of the ones who was smitten."

A little taken aback, Jackson gave the colonel a confused look. "What?"

Looking a little embarrassed himself; "Ye-eah... I was actually the only one unaffected because I had a cold, before I got caught... but, the point was, in the end, Beckett overcame it— had to go through withdrawal— and managed to not only manufacture an antidote, but sprang me, tricked Lucius, and managed to pretty much save the whole expedition."

"Good thing," Jackson agreed, a hint of laughter in his expression. "If he hadn't..."

Sheppard gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Who knows what would have happened?"

"Would have been interesting."

"I know, I mean, that cold wasn't going to last forever," Sheppard said, and even though Jackson was focused on the road at the moment, he could just tell from the other man's tone that he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. It was then that he gave Sheppard a long look, to the point that it was starting to unnerve the colonel. "What?"

"Oh, just... trying to imagine you... fawning..."

"What, don't I look like the fawning type?"

"...No," Jackson said at length, shaking his head.

Sheppard couldn't help but laugh, yet again, eliciting another wide grin from the civilian. "Y'know, you kind've remind me of Carson."

That honestly seemed to surprise Jackson. "Really? ...Thanks," he said, feeling almost... touched.

"Not that you don't also remind me of Rodney, on occasion," Sheppard continued, ruining the moment, "what with the smart, fast talking—"

"Whoa, whoa, what? Rodney? As in... Rodney McKay?" Jackson asked, incredulous.

Tossing a glance at the other man, Sheppard said, "I take it you've met him?"

"I've... had the distinct displeasure of being in the same room with him on occasion, yes," Jackson admitted, not feeling nearly as touched as he had a moment before. In fact, he felt rather miffed. "McKay? Honestly?"

Sheppard watched in amusement, before giving a conciliatory shrug. "Okay, more like Carson."

"Thanks," Jackson said again, not sounding nearly as grateful as he had.

Turning to look out the window, the colonel paused, leaning his head against the glass. For a moment, Jackson worried that he had brought the other man back into that same blank depression he had been feeling before, but then Sheppard continued. "Yeah," Sheppard insisted. "That whole, cheerful wit... Always trying to soothe people... that and you're so easy to embarrass."

Not for the first time, Jackson spluttered as he tried to come up with something to say to that, but failed. He realized, with a bit of resentment, that he had just proven Sheppard right.

But the colonel appeared to not take notice, still staring out into the fading evening light. "You know, he was always so skittish around Ancient technology. In fact, he was the one who accidentally set the drone on me and O'Neill in Antarctica."

"He was?" Jackson asked in surprise, before his memory caught up with him. "Oh! I remember that!" He was unsure if he was supposed to laugh or feel bad. "Sorry?"

Sheppard kept going as if he hadn't heard the archaeologist's half-hearted condolences. "The funny thing is, if he hadn't activated that thing... And, of course, subsequently deactivated it..." he added as a side note, before realizing he had gotten off track, and exhaling loudly and staring over at Jackson, who felt the stare in the side of his head, even as he had to focus on the road in the failing light; "General O'Neill would never looked twice at me if not for that drone. He wouldn't have brought me down into that Ancient outpost..." He shook his head, smiling to himself, and turning to face the front of the car again. "If it weren't for Carson, I'd never have gone to Atlantis." At those words, though, a change in expression drew Jackson's gaze from the road over to Sheppard, who appeared to be wincing silently. He thought back to earlier— how Sheppard had been adamantly against returning to Atlantis so soon, and believed he was starting to understand why.

"You know," he started cautiously, "I've lost people I've cared about over the years. People I loved. Dr. Frasier was one of them... I'd always get... angry, or devastated... once I even left the Stargate program." He stopped for a second to observe his passenger. Sheppard's shoulders had tensed up, but there was no expression on his face. Determined to not let up, Jackson kept going. "My emotions have... generally gotten the better of me...

"However... when I saw Janet die... I mean, at first, I was mad. Confused. Scared, even. But then, it was like someone had flipped a switch or something... It just didn't affect me. I..." He trailed off, feeling a bit ashamed. "I didn't let it."

By now, it was obvious he had caught Sheppard's interest. The man had turned slightly, and Jackson could see the colonel glancing his way out of the corner of his eyes. He didn't say anything, though, so Jackson took it as a signal to continue.

"Dr. Frasier... she was like some universal constant. She was a doctor, and a mentor, and a friend... She didn't just work at the SGC, she was a part of it, and it was impossible to imagine it without her. So I didn't," he said, gingerly. "I didn't even realize it at first, but I guess I was just pretending everything was alright. Just little things... Taking a different route to get to my office, forgetting to go in for post-op physicals. Things I didn't even realize I was doing, except maybe at some... unconscious level. Whatever I could to keep myself from noticing that she was gone." He paused once more, but Sheppard had turned away again; Jackson sighed. Without warning, he turned the car down a residential street and pulled it to the side, putting it into park and twisting the key to the off position, reaching for his seatbelt release.

He half expected Sheppard to just hop out of the car and storm off, but instead, the other man looked surprised, spinning in place, though he did take off his own seatbelt. "Why'd we stop? We get wherever it is we're going?"

"What?" Jackson said, confused.

"What?" Sheppard replied, even more confused.

Jackson stared at the colonel for a second before he shook his head, trying to clear it and making a noise of frustration. "No, I— ...I just wanted to say... The reason I didn't acknowledge her death for so long..." He let out a loud sigh. "I mean, in my head, I kept telling myself that, I could have done something differently. That I should have been acting differently, and that what I was doing... was betraying her memory..." he said, trailing off, the words difficult and painful, even after so much time.

Sheppard frowned at him. "Betraying... how? Your reaction was justified, you had just lost someone very important to you."

Giving his passenger a grateful smile, Jackson continued. "Maybe so. But... that was what I was thinking. So, in a way, it made sense that I detached myself from feeling anything. I mean... after all..." He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, staring through the windshield and into the sky which was gradually becoming dark. "Who'd want to feel like they'd betrayed someone?"

"Yeah," Colonel Sheppard started, his face wrinkled with another frown, "but... the reason you tried to ignore it in the first place... I mean, you couldn't even help it," he said, unaware as his voice rose in volume. He glanced down, took one deep breath— it was obvious by now that he was thinking of his fallen comrade.

Jackson shifted in his seat so he was leaning on his right shoulder— facing the colonel. "Look, Sheppard," he said, trying to command the other man's attention. Once he finally got it, he held him in a stare until he was sure that he was listening. "I wasn't ready to let her go. And... I didn't realize it then, but... that was okay."

In a way that was seeming to become common between them, there was an empty silence. Sheppard broke off eye contact, and stared straight ahead, while Jackson watched him, unsure if he had gone too far. He kept waiting, hoping Sheppard would give some sign that this was getting through. In fact, the way he kept avoiding it... it was starting to worry Jackson. Maybe he really shouldn't have pushed him about this, after all, he didn't even know the man, much less this Beckett. Nevertheless, he felt like he had gotten so far, only to be thwarted this close to the end. One last time, he tried to get through.

"Sheppard. It's... okay... to have a hard time accepting death." He stared at Sheppard, imploring him silently to listen to what he was saying. Slowly, the colonel turned to look at Jackson, and for the first time in reference to the death of Carson Beckett, he saw pain there. Pain that he didn't want— and probably wasn't ready— to feel. It was hard to continue, knowing what he was forcing on this man... He let out a soft sigh. "It doesn't mean something's wrong with us. It makes us more human."

Dr. Jackson hadn't expected the colonel to respond right away. He certainly hadn't expected him to laugh. Which was why, when the man began chuckling— a soft, almost sad sound, but laughter nonetheless— he had to do a double take. "You know," Colonel Sheppard started, "That's exactly what I'm talking about." Seeing the confused look on Jackson's face, he added, "That sounds just like something Beckett would've said."

"Well..." Jackson said, trying not to sound to pleased at the repeat comparison. "...Maybe you should listen to him."

Sheppard gave the civilian an appraising look for a few moments, before he finally nodded. "Know what?" He met the inquisitive look with a level stare. "I think I can live with that."

"...Good!" After a pause, the archaeologist flashed another cheery smile, this one both genuine and relieved.

"Good," Sheppard affirmed. After a moment's hesitation; "Uh... where are we going?"

"Mm?" Jackson asked, only halfway paying attention as he restarted the car. "Going?"

"Yes, going— we were going somewhere, weren't we?"

"...For a drive...?"

"...Oh. Okay, sure," Sheppard said, a smile returning to his face. "Works for me. 'Sides, it's getting kinda late."

"Yeah," Jackson said, a slight smile on his own face as he turned the car around; "Need to get you back before bedtime."

Sheppard resettled himself and pulled his seatbelt back on. "Hey, wouldn't want to miss my story. Besides," he continued easily, "Weir gets cranky when I'm out after dark."

"Real trouble maker?"

"Who? Me or Weir?" Sheppard asked, somehow staying straight faced. It was enough to set Jackson laughing, though, and he shook his head— and, as the two continued to poke fun at each other on the drive back, not for the only time. It may have seemed to an observer that the two had gone right back to glossing over the problem, but he knew that wasn't true. There was an ease to Sheppard's posture and voice now that conveyed more than words. In fact, the two were talking and joking like old friends by the time Jackson pulled the car through the front gate of Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Vaguely, the civilian wondered what would have happened if he had ever made it to the Atlantis Expedition. But, just as quickly, he let go of the thought, as Sheppard grabbed his attention again.

"So, as we're walking away, we hear Lucius saying, 'Kick me!'"

Jackson had to stifle a laugh. "I know I should say something like, 'That was cruel'... but, uh..." He paused, as if thinking. "No, no, I wouldn't say it was."

"Yeah," Sheppard said, reliving the moment fondly. "But he figured it out in the end. And, it wasn't like he didn't have a hand in all that trouble in the first place. Hey," he suddenly said, his tone changing. "Jackson."

The other man gave him a glance, realizing that the topic had just changed to something more serious. Nevertheless; "Daniel," he said softly. "Just call me Daniel."

Sheppard looked a little surprised, but didn't let it stop him. "All right, Daniel... Thanks."

"No problem, Sheppard," Daniel said without thinking it over. He didn't have to.

Sheppard, on the other hand, made a disparaging noise. "Come on, if I don't have to call you by your last name, you don't need to call me by mine." The two exchanged glances, and all Daniel did was smile knowingly. Soon enough, Sheppard realized what was going on. "You don't know my first name, do you?" Daniel shook his head, never losing that close mouthed grin. Sheppard pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to smile himself. "Ahh."

Daniel just raised his eyebrows once, then returned to parking the car. "Come on, we need to get you changed back into your blues and down to the Gateroom, you're already going to be late." He flipped off the ignition and pushed open his door.

"Ehh, they'll be waiting for me," Sheppard said with an amazing amount of confidence, and slid out his own door.

Daniel blinked a few times. "You think so?"

"Twenty bucks says so," he insisted.

"You're on," the civilian said, still aware that Sheppard had gotten the better of him more times than vice versa, and seeking to even the score.

* * *

"Oh look," Sheppard said in a falsely cheery voice, "It's Major Lorne and—"

"Damn it," Daniel couldn't help but swear. "Yeah, yeah, I see."

Sheppard gave Jackson an amused look. "So pay up."

"So nice of you to join us, Colonel Sheppard," a voice said, reporting out of the speakers around the wall. The assembled group, including the military personnel that had been waiting for his return all looked up at the control room, where General Landry was speaking through a microphone.

Daniel gave a little half-wave, smiling apologetically. "Ah, that was, uh, my fault. Sorry!"

It seemed to surprise most of the people within earshot, but neither of the two guilty parties seemed to care, or even looked ashamed. "Well," General Landry started, "Could we not keep Atlantis waiting any longer?"

"I have no problem with that," Sheppard said, unabashed. Landry gave him a wary look, and Major Lorne in particular looked at him like he was crazy. Daniel observed as the colonel turned towards the major, giving him a calm, reassuring smile, before catching his 2IC up on his whereabouts for the past few hours while the Stargate spun up.

"Chevron eight, locked," the Gate technician announced, and moments later, a vortex exploded from the ring, resolving itself into a glowing blue pool of light.

"So," Sheppard said, turning back to Daniel.

"So."

"You owe me twenty dollars."

Daniel frowned. "I..." He then coughed, self consciously. "Yes. Yes I do."

Sheppard rolled his eyes, letting out a sound of exasperation. "Right. Next time."

"Next time," Daniel agreed.

Sheppard looked insistent. "I'm holding you to it."

Daniel offered no reply— none verbally, anyhow. As the colonel started up the ramp, however, towards the wormhole, he surprised himself by saying, "Hey, Sheppard!"

The military man stopped, pivoting back on one foot. "Jackson?"

"Daniel," he corrected automatically.

"Daniel," Sheppard agreed, his mouth once again set in that 'trying-not-to-get-frustrated-at-you' smile.

"Uh, if you ever want to talk again..." he started, before trailing off. Maybe he was pressing his luck? "You know where to find me," he finished, adding an unsure shrug.

Sheppard paused again, prompting those further up the ramp to halt as well. For a second, Daniel saw a hurt expression flicker across Sheppard's face, and felt some regret of his own. But then, Sheppard's eyes drifted shut, and when they opened a half second later, he was smiling, and even his eyes held that same cool, pleasantness. "In time... sure. And... I appreciate... what you did," he added, at length.

"Well," Daniel said, somewhat modestly. "All I did was talk. ...Like McKay, apparently," he added, still somewhat put out.

Sheppard began moving up the ramp again, grinning from ear to ear. Ah, if McKay had learned that he had compared the two, he would probably throw a similar fit, he figured. As he reached the top, he waved the others on through, before pausing to give Jackson one last thing to think on. "Just so you know, it's 'John'," he called, before disappearing through the event horizon, which soon faded itself.

"John," Daniel repeated, amusedly. "...Smart ass." And that, he thought privately, was a good thing. Maybe Carson Beckett's death hadn't affected the colonel like he thought it would—or even should, but neither changed the fact that it did. Never did change, he thought, sparing a thought for his own losses, before he glanced at his watch.

Four hours... He laughed to himself. "Well, looks like you got me back. Beats a haunting, though," he mused out loud, heading for an elevator. He didn't consider it time wasted, really. The shared experiences... they hadn't just been to Sheppard's— John's— benefit. And, as he stepped into the empty elevator, Daniel couldn't help but feel... oddly comforted.

* * *


End file.
